An Act of Murder

by Mary Angela

“I think he would have,” said the boy in the leather jacket. “He would have brought something different.”

  Freckles shoved him in a playful manner. “What? Like a pickup truck?”

  “Did you need something else, Professor Prather?” said Jared, purposefully changing the topic.

  This was underscored for the boys’ benefit, and Freckles exclaimed, “Oh!”

  “No, that will be all. I’m so sorry about the first copy. You know the story: late nights, early mornings. I’m sure you boys can sympathize.” But the two students were already fighting for first dibs on the door handle.

  “Goodbye, Professor,” one mumbled, I’m not sure which, as they hurried out the door. I followed close behind.

  “Oh I was going to ask you …” I said, reopening the door.

  Jared looked wary.

  “Did I see you at Vinny’s last night with … Miriam?” Why that name fell out of my mouth instead of Jennifer or Rebecca, I had no idea. Maybe the Catholic Daughters were rubbing off on me. “She was in my literature class last year.”

  “Miriam? I don’t know any Miriam,” he said.

  “Huh. I could swear I saw you there about eight o’clock ….”

  He shook his head. “The game was last night.”

  He might as well as added “duh” to the end of his statement.

  “Oh right. Of course, the game,” I said, although I had no idea what game he was talking about. “That couldn’t have been you. Well, thanks again for the re-print. See you in class next week.”

  He shut the door behind me.

  Walking back to my car, I decided Jared had nothing to do with Austin’s death. I was certain the person at my house was the person who had committed the murder. The two had to be connected. And if Jared had been my intruder, he would have looked guilty somehow or at least more suspicious of my presence.

  Running the facts over and over again in my mind, I drove all the way down Main until I ran out of street and veered onto the highway. I stepped hard on the gas, snaking around the bluff, watching the town disappear behind me. Here was another nice thing about living on the prairie. You could get into your car and drive. There was no traffic. No stoplights. Only the dirt and sky, and if neither one bothered you much, you could drive as far as you wanted or needed to go without ever running out of road.

  Something the fraternity boy had said kept replaying in my head: Austin wasn’t the type to back down. I had to agree with the boy’s assessment. Austin was probably polite and easygoing just up until the moment he wasn’t. I had a feeling he would have gone along with the farm-kid stereotype right up until the second he punched somebody in the face for it. Maybe Jared was that someone. Maybe it was one of the other fraternity boys. Whoever it was, I needed to find him and soon.

  Even if I had an idea of where to investigate next, I wasn’t sure anyone would be there. There was something inherently lazy about a college town on a Saturday afternoon. Nobody did any work that didn’t have to be handed in the next morning. And the truth was I didn’t know who else had a complaint with Austin other than the fraternity boys. Of course there was one boy I suspected had a problem with Austin, and that was Sarah’s boyfriend, Sean Chan. Sarah had admitted he didn’t like boys calling or texting her. If that were the case, what had he possibly thought of Austin taking Sarah to a poetry reading or working with her at the theater? In fact, it was entirely possible that Sean followed Sarah after work that day all the way to the theater, sneaked in undetected, and saw something he wished he hadn’t. I pulled off at the next dirt road and turned around. It was a great night for Chinese. Now I just needed to find a date, one who wouldn’t mind analyzing the situation after the food was finished.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “So, are you asking me out on a date?” Lenny teased.

  I fell onto my couch. “I told you, it’s not a date. It’s dinner. I was there all by myself a few nights ago. I don’t want to draw undue attention by going there alone again. In fact, I think you kind of owe me a meal after scarfing down all my food from Vinny’s.”

  “So now you’re asking me out on a date and you want me to pay? Is that how you feminists roll these days?”

  “Pretty much,” I said. “Do you want to go or not?”

  “Do I have to wear a tie?”

  “Would you wear one if I said ‘yes’?”

  Lenny was silent for a few minutes. “That’s a good question. Okay. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “Seven. I’ll see you then.” I clicked off the phone, smiling to myself. I looked over at the stack of folders on my coffee table, and my smile slackened. I had five hours and not one excuse. I picked up my colored highlighters and went to work.

  I took my students’ writing seriously. I couldn’t fly through a stack of papers as quickly as one of the teaching assistants. They had been taught to use egg timers and give each paper fifteen minutes, max. I had been taught that, too, but somewhere in between teaching assistant and professor, I began to add minutes to each paper, not take them away. If I couldn’t give them my full attention, then they would get none at all. That was my personal teaching philosophy.

  With a plan in my head for this evening, I worked through several papers, remaining completely focused on the students’ individual needs and tailoring my feedback accordingly. Before nightfall, the stack of papers had shrunk considerably, and I felt a renewed sense of purpose that came from the tangible task of taking from pile A and putting into pile B.

  “You’re not wearing a tie,” I said as I opened my door.

  “You didn’t ask me to,” said Lenny.

  I smiled and grabbed my purse. He still looked nice. He wore a dark gray shirt and a casual black blazer. His hair was damp as if he had just showered. I was glad I had put on my red A-line dress.

  “After you,” he said, holding the door.

  The night had grown cold and windy, and I was happy my trench coat hung on the hook in the front porch. I shrugged into it, with Lenny’s help, and tied the belt tightly around my waist. My black heels sunk into the grass as I crossed the boulevard and climbed into the passenger’s side of Lenny’s old Taurus, which smelled faintly of spearmint gum.

  “So what’s the plan?” he said, starting the car. “Do we know for sure Sean works there?”

  I shook my head. “Not for certain. It’s just a feeling I got the other night. I saw these two people fighting and wondered if Sean was one of them. I thought I heard ‘Sean’ in their conversation, but it was hard to tell with all that rapid-fire Chinese. He was the right age, good-looking, Asian—and Sarah works there. It has to be him.”

  “If you’ve never seen the kid, and I’ve never seen the kid, then how are we going to know it is the kid?”

  I dismissed his question with the wave of my hand. “Nametags. Besides, it’s never busy in there. Nobody can afford it.”

  He nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced. “So assuming he is wearing a nametag, and he is our waiter, and we do hold him hostage at the table for a few minutes, what are we going to say to him? How’s the Crab Rangoon? By the way, where were you the day Austin Oliver was killed—or better yet, last night when Em’s house was broken into?”

  I threw him a look. “These things have to been done delicately, Lenny. You know that. We need to find an approach, a way in.”

  He shook his head. “A way in …. Well, there’s Sarah … and Claudia, Sarah’s teacher.”

  “Speaking of Claudia, you should have heard the way she assailed me on Friday. She even hinted I might lose my job.”

  “That’s going too far, even for Claudia.”

  I nodded vigorously. “That’s exactly what I said.”

  Lenny drove around the block, looking for an open parking space. He found one near the corner of the building. “So Sarah then. What do you know about her?”

  He shut off the car.

  “I know someone was in her dorm room last night and that she left for her parents’ house this morning.
I also know that she did meet Austin at the theater Saturday afternoon and that at that time he was wearing the gloves. He had a headache.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that on the phone? That’s news. Did you believe her?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “About as much as I believe anyone these days.”

  “Which is saying ‘every word,’ right?”

  I punched his arm.

  “So let’s think about this,” he said, turning serious. “How are you and Sarah linked? Why your house and her dorm room?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. The murderer must think that we were closer to Austin than we actually were.”

  “Speak for yourself. We know Sarah had a thing for him.”

  I did not argue. “She most certainly had something for him,” I said. “And what’s more, I think that if this Sean found out, it would mean trouble for Sarah. If it’s the kid from the other night, he’s a real hothead.”

  Lenny pulled open his car door. “Oh boy. There’s nothing more enjoyable than an eighteen-year-old hothead.”

  As we walked into Dynasty, we were greeted by a very efficient—and very short—hostess. She smiled, took two menus from the rack beside the podium, and stalked off in the direction of the nearest booth. “Okay?” she asked.

  “This is fine, thank you,” I said.

  A young boy appeared out of nowhere and filled our water glasses.

  “Is Sean working tonight?” I asked with exaggerated politeness. The boy gave me a nod and walked away.

  Lenny raised his eyes from his menu.

  “See?” I said.

  He nodded. “Do they have anything to drink here—besides beer and wine?”

  “Sorry. It looks like you’ll be drinking wine with me.”

  He closed his menu. “Wine with you is better than bourbon with anyone else.”

  “You already know what you’re having?”

  “Yeah, the beef and broccoli. It’s what I always have.”

  I was puzzled. “But they have some really good food here. The Dim Sum is out of sight.”

  “No way. It’s chicken or beef for me, Prather. Do you know what they put in those authentic dishes?”

  I raised my hand, palm up, signaling for him to stop. “I concede the point.”

  “I can get you a shot of sake though,” he said.

  “A nice wine will do,” I said, closing my menu.

  The young man from the other night was making his way toward our table. It had to be Sean.

  “Hello,” he said. He was dressed in a crisply ironed white shirt and black pants.

  Lenny looked at his nametag and then at him. “Hello, Sean.”

  He put his order form in his apron pocket. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember you. My brother said you were asking for me. Are you the chemistry professor I was supposed to talk to about an internship?”

  “Chemistry? No no. I’m in the English Department,” said Lenny.

  “Oh,” was all Sean managed to say. He started to fumble for his pen.

  “We know Sarah,” I quickly added.

  “Oh yeah. Sarah’s an English major,” he said, seeming to accept this explanation.

  “Is she working tonight?” Lenny said, glancing around at nearby tables.

  “No. She left to go to her parents’ house.” He sounded disappointed.

  “That’s too bad,” I said. “I bet you wish you could have gone with her for the weekend.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding? I’m here night and day. My parents own this place.”

  “I bet you had to work last night, too,” said Lenny.

  I smiled inside. He could be very clever when he wanted to be.

  “Of course. Where else would I be on a Friday or Saturday night? They’re our two busiest days of the week.” Now he pulled out his order form and waited.

  Lenny ordered a fine bottle of Malbec and Mandarin dumplings for an appetizer. Sean disappeared with the order.

  “Sounds like Sean’s a little bit disgruntled,” said Lenny, taking a glug from his water glass.

  I leaned in closer. “Who wouldn’t be, especially with your girlfriend attending poetry readings and everything else with another guy?”

  “But he said he was working last night. How could he have been at your house at eight?”

  “True,” I said. I sat back in the booth. Sean was coming with our wine.

  Sean poured a splash of wine into Lenny’s glass, and Lenny tasted and approved. Sean continued to fill Lenny’s glass and mine. “You must be an English professor, too,” he said to me.

  I nodded.

  “I think Sarah’s mentioned you. You must teach her creative writing class,” he said.

  “No, I don’t teach creative writing, but I did have Austin Oliver in my class. Did you know him?”

  He put the bottle on the table. “He was more Sarah’s friend than mine. He was always hanging around the theater. I guess he didn’t have a real job. Lucky guy … well, maybe not so lucky after all.”

  The short woman cried “Sean!” from the kitchen. “Order!”

  He hurried off, returning with the dumplings. “You guys ready to order?”

  We gave him our orders, and he darted off before we could resume our questions.

  Lenny raised his glass. “To Saturdays.”

  “To Saturdays.”

  “How’d those papers go for you? You get any of them done?” Lenny asked.

  “Some. Quite a few.” I was watching Sean’s mom argue with him from behind the small window in the kitchen. “That woman is relentless.”

  Lenny took a big bite of dumpling and nodded. “The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.”

  “Well, he looks like she’s rocked his cradle one too many times. I wouldn’t be surprised if he stalked out of here again tonight. He left on bad terms the other night, you know.”

  “I just hope he brings us our food first,” Lenny said.

  I laughed. “I just hope we can bring up Austin again without it being awkward.”

  Lenny raised one eyebrow. “It was awkward the first time.”

  “No way. I transitioned it in there nicely.”

  Lenny groaned. “Remember how I told you not to confuse people with paragraphs? You’re doing it right now.”

  “But we don’t know anything yet,” I said.

  “Yes we do. We know he wasn’t at your house last night, and we know that this place has a decent and affordable wine list.”

  “Well that’s true.” I raised my glass again. “To affordability.”

  “May it not cost us our fortune,” said Lenny with a clink of my glass.

  “Besides,” Lenny added, “if he were the intruder, he would have recognized you.”

  “True,” I said with a sigh.

  The immediate problems of Austin and Sean and Sarah started to recede from my brain as Lenny and I began to talk and eat and drink. The dumplings were delicious, and Lenny was right about the wine. It was very drinkable. I told him all about the fraternity fiasco. I suspected he deduced that I hadn’t played it quite as coy as I would have liked. But I emphasized that I’d found out what I came for: Jared claimed he was at the game last night. And if we were sure the murderer and the housebreaker were one and the same, then Jared couldn’t be the murderer.

  When I finished my story, Lenny picked up the wine bottle and realized it was empty.

  “Hey, where’s the food? Shouldn’t it be here by now?”

  I scanned the room for Sean; I didn’t see him. “Where’s Sean?”

  “If I knew that, I’d wrangle our food out of him.”

  “Excuse me, ma’am?” I said to a passing waitress with a blue-black ponytail. “Is our food on its way? Our waiter seems to have forgotten us.”

  “So sorry. Be right back.” She walked quickly toward the kitchen. Within seconds, she reappeared with our food.

  “Thank you,” I said, “but what happened to Sean?”

  “He was finished fo
r the night. Enjoy.” With that, she was gone.

  Lenny and I looked at each other.

  “Well that’s odd,” he said.

  “Do you suppose we scared him off?” I said.

  He placed his napkin on his lap. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. I think Mommy Dearest did that all by herself.”

  “Maybe it was our talk of Austin?” I said.

  He shrugged. “It could have been.”

  I picked at my food with my chopsticks, trying to trap a rogue noodle.

  “You can’t use those, can you?” he said.

  “Not a bit.”

  “Good,” he said, unwrapping his silverware. “I’m starving.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Monday morning came faster than I expected, especially since I had stayed up half the night grading the rest of my papers. I felt like one of my students pulling an all-nighter. Yet when I looked at the clock and it was well after midnight, I figured I might as well get up and finish the handful of papers I had yet to grade. I didn’t regret my decision, and neither would Giles, but the face staring back at me from the mirror did. I dabbed extra concealer over my dark circles and applied a little more blush to my cheekbones. After fussing with my makeup, I didn’t feel like fussing with my clothes, so I grabbed a long skirt and sweater from my closet, clipping my hair up into a messy bun. I threw the papers into a large canvas bag and walked out the door, coffee tumbler in hand.

  Class went by quickly, and as soon as I’d handed back the last paper, I made for the door. I’d decided during class that I needed to go back to the theater. There was something sophisticated about the murder, a complexity devised with the help of experience and age—not youth. Now I wondered if the murderer were not a student but a person in authority, a person like Alex. This would explain the murderer’s knowledge of my whereabouts Friday evening. Faculty members on a small campus such as ours knew just about everything about everyone else—even in other departments. For instance, the School of Arts and Sciences loved to criticize the popular Business School. It stored rumors about it as a homemaker might store raspberry jam. Especially when enrollment was down, we’d pull out our winter fodder, which helped us feel safe from budget cuts and all other threats aimed at anything old or artistic. English just happened to fall into both categories.